


The Beginning of the End

by WinchesterWytch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Coda ep 14x17, F/M, Mild Language, NSFW, Rough Sex, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 14:44:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21101198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinchesterWytch/pseuds/WinchesterWytch
Summary: Sam almost died, again. Jack and Mary are missing. Is it time to get out of the family business?





	The Beginning of the End

**Author's Note:**

> Coda for ep 14x17, Game Night. Spoilers
> 
> A huge thank you to @aingealcethlenn for a quick beta turnaround and some helpful suggestions. A very special thanks to @cleighwrites for editing.

You wait at the bottom of the stairs, two tumblers of whiskey in your hands. Sam had called you from the road to let you know what happened. He knew you’d be worried when Dean refused to answer your calls.

Sam came in first, taking the stairs two at a time. When he hits the last step, his head is down and his hair is falling along the sides of his face. He whispers, “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey.” You hold out one of the drinks for him to take from you then slide in close to him. Reaching around with your now freed hand to give him a side hug, pressing up against him, you give him whatever support he’ll take. “I’m here if you need me,” you offer.

“Thanks.” Is all he can manage, never once looking you in the eye.

As he pulls away, you reach up and grab the straps of his duffle and computer bag, sliding them down his arm and placing them on the floor next to you. “Go get some rest.”

His head jerks up, this time catching your gaze. “No, we have to find Jack and Mom, figure out what’s going on.”

Laying a hand on his forearm, you feel his muscles twitch with anger, or maybe fear, probably both. “Sam, you almost died. You need to rest.” You watch his jaw clench as he shakes his head, then rolls his shoulders. Squeezing his arm before he can say anything, you beg, “Please, just a few hours. We all need it.” You glance up the stairs, and his eyes follow your gaze to his brother who has finally stumbled through the door.

Sam sighs, catching the defeated look on his brother’s face. “Yeah, yeah okay.” He bends down to grab his bags, but you stop him.

“I’ll take care of them; go.” Sam hesitates, and you give him a little shove. “Go.” You plan on keeping the laptop away from him until he has a chance to rest, knowing that if he takes it with him, he will immediately start in on research. He gives you a knowing smile before kissing you lightly on the cheek, then heading down the hall to his room.

Turning your gaze once again to the elder Winchester, you watch as he slowly lumbers down the steps, shoulders slumped, chin tucked into his chest; his hair is a spiky mess from where he’s probably been running his hands through it. Your heart aches for him, realizing that this might be the straw that finally breaks him.

As he nears the bottom step, he sits down with a thud. He leans against the railing and drags a hand down his face. You place a hand on his leg, squat down in front of him, and hold out the glass of whiskey for him.

“Thanks,” he mutters, finally raising his eyes to yours. Taking the glass, he downs the amber liquid in one gulp.

You raise a hand to cup his jaw, and he leans into your touch. “Wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head, and you wait silently, knowing that he wants to tell you but that he is struggling to find the words. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. “He died, Y/N. I watched him die, and there was nothing I could do to help him. If Jack hadn’t gotten there when he did….” You feel the muscles in his thigh tense as he suddenly stands, towering above you. The swiftness of his movements rock you back, and your ass hits the floor with a soft thunk. “I almost lost Sam, Nick is loose, again, and now Mom and Jack are missing!” He’s yelling now, his voice vibrating with anger. “I can’t do this anymore!”

He hurls the glass, and you watch its path toward the wall. He’s thrown it with such force that when it hits the cement wall, it doesn’t just break, but completely shatters, fragments of glass flying back in your direction. You flinch, turning away as you feel shards nick your cheek. You turn your gaze back to Dean, he’s clenching his hands at his sides, his chest is heaving, and his face is flushed.

“Dean.” Lost in his anger, he doesn’t hear you call to him. You raise your voice and move to get your legs under you to stand. “Dean!” you try again, this time getting his attention.

He turns his head in your direction, but you can tell that he doesn’t really see you. His eyes are glossed over with hurt and rage. He reaches down and grips your biceps, bringing you to stand in front of him. His head dips and his lips meet yours in a punishing kiss. You gasp as he bites your lower lip and he uses that to his advantage to force his tongue in your mouth. The grip on your arms tightens but you don’t make a sound or push him away. You bring your hands up to grasp his forearms to help ground him. You know he needs this, that right now he needs to feel that he is in control of something, anything.

You run your hands up his arms and around his neck, pulling him closer to you. He loosens his grip on your arms, and you whimper as the muscles begin to throb with pain. His hands slide down your body until they reach the back of your thighs where he gives a rough, suggestive squeeze. With a little hop, and a slight assist from him, you wrap your legs around his waist, and he adjusts his arms to support you, one under your ass, the other gripping the back of your neck.

He finally breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours. “Y/N….” His voice is deep and ragged.

“It’s okay, I know,” you reply. He turns and carries you toward your shared room, all the while nipping at your earlobe and sucking at your neck.

Entering the room, he kicks the door closed, and your head hits the wood with a loud thud as he turns and shoves you against it. He rolls his hips pressing you tighter against the door for support. You slide your hands up his chest and across his shoulders, pushing the blue and gray flannel down his arms and onto the floor. You feel his stomach muscles clench as your hands glide over the smooth skin under his t-shirt.

He bites his lower lip and moans when your fingers brush across his nipples, and your legs tighten around him in response. You can feel his dick straining against the denim between you as you grind into him. Growing impatient, he shifts against you for some friction and reaches behind his head, pulling the shirt off and tossing it to the floor.

“Raise your arms,” he commands. You do and he grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling it up your torso and over your arms, letting it fall onto the growing pile of clothes. He lets out a soft grunt when he realizes that you aren’t wearing a bra. He grabs your wrists and takes a step back. “Stand.”

You unwrap your legs from around his waist and let them fall. Your toes barely touch the floor as he continues to hold your wrists above your head, his grip tight enough that you know there will be bruises later. The length of his body presses into you, his thick thighs trapping your legs against the door. Your hardened nipples glide across the smooth skin of his chest and you feel his stomach muscles ripple, making the coil in your belly tighten.

He drops his head, nipping at your earlobe again before brushing his lips along your jaw, the scruff of his beard deliciously burning your skin. He releases your wrists and your hands land on his shoulders for support as you slump against him. Before your feet can hit the floor, his hands grip the sides of your waist, sliding you back up the door, putting your breasts level with his mouth.

You throw your head back against the door with another loud thud as he flicks his tongue across your right nipple. You let out a soft chuckle at both the feel of his tongue on your skin and the thought that you’ll end up with a concussion if your head keeps slamming against the solid wood. He bites roughly at the top of your breast, and the pain from both his grip and the bite sends heat rushing through your body, tightening the muscles in your lower belly and you moan, “Fuck.”

He hums against your skin as his tongue trails across your chest to the other breast where he sucks in the nipple rolling it roughly between his teeth. Your hands tighten on his shoulders and your whimper with pleasure.

“You like it rough, baby?” he purrs. His breath is hot in contrast to the cool air of the room and goosebumps instantly form on your skin. His mouth continues to ravage your chest, alternating between suckling and biting, devouring you like a man possessed.

Suddenly you’re too overwhelmed, your panties are soaked, slick dripping from your core, your nipples are overly sensitive and raw from his rough tongue and sharp teeth, and you push at his shoulders. When he doesn’t stop you begin to panic. You grab him by the back of his head and slap his arm, only then does he finally pull his mouth away before giving each breast one final, hard squeeze before letting you slide back down the door.

As soon as your feet touch the floor your legs start to buckle, and he scoops you into his arms walking you to the end of the bed. Without a word, he throws you onto the bed. He palms himself through the denim of his jeans as he watches your tits bounce until your body settles into the mattress.

Watching him closely, you can still see the anger and fear behind the lust now darkening his eyes. His features are hard and unforgiving as his eyes rake over your body, you could see him deciding what he wanted to do with you. If it were anyone other than Dean standing above you, you’d be terrified right now.

He sneers as he voices his demand, “Take your pants off.”

You pop the button on your jeans and slowly slide the zipper down, watching as his tongue flicks out between his teeth, heat spreads through your body under his lustful gaze. Dean isn’t normally this rough with you, and you have to admit that he’s fucking sexy as hell right now. He grabs your ankle, jerking you roughly toward him, and you let out a small yelp.

“Quit stalling.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans and yanks them down your legs and off your body, your underwear going along with them. Grabbing your legs, he twists one over the other, forcing you to flip over onto your stomach. You hear the drag of the zipper and the thud of denim hitting the floor, and you barely have time to scramble onto all fours before he’s spreading your legs to fit his body between them.

“Damn, so wet for me.” His thick cock glides through your dripping folds as he presses his hips against your ass and you rock back into him. A large hand glides up your spine, gripping the back of your neck, pressing your upper body down into the mattress. Leaning over you, he whispers harshly into your ear, “You okay, sweetheart?”

You hiss out a weak, “Yes,” just as the thumb from his free hand brushes against your clit sending shockwaves through your body.

“Good, because I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for a week.” His voice is laced with something you can’t quite place, and a chill runs down your spine. He doesn’t give you a second chance to question it as he lines himself up with your entrance and slams into you with one quick thrust.

He immediately pulls out and slams back in, not giving you time to adjust to his considerable girth. He continues ramming into you, the drag of his cock painful at first before turning to sheer pleasure as your slick coats his dick. Pent up anger and frustration are released with each thrust, and the force of it pushes you further up the mattress. He grasps your hips pulling you back into him and stopping your ascent up the bed. His fingers dig deeper into the soft flesh with each thrust, his balls slapping against your clit.

“God you feel so good, Y/N/N. So tight.”

You hum in response, not able to form words. Your hands fisting into the sheets as the ball of heat grows in your belly.

He releases his grip with one hand and slides it over your mound, pressing a finger hard against your clit. “Want you to come with me,” he growls. “Can you do that, sweetheart?”

Your muffled confirmation is all the response he needs. His finger vibrates against the sensitive bundle of nerves as he picks up his pace. Your walls flutter around him as his cock drags across your g-spot with each thrust. “Dean, I….”

“I got you, babe.” The hand still on your hip is suddenly gone as he reaches up to yank your hair, making your back arch. “Now!” He slams into you one final time pressing into your cervix.

You scream his name as you clench around his throbbing cock. He continues to thrust into you, stretching out your orgasm as his hot come pulses into you. He releases your hair as he begins to soften inside you and you fall forward onto the bed. His body follows yours, pressing you further into the mattress. You relish the warmth and weight of his body and let out a whimper when he rolls off of you to lay on his back.

“Christ, Dean, that was… amazing.” You can’t move, your limbs like rubber. You chuckle, “This must be what a jellyfish feels like, all squishy and warm.”

When Dean doesn’t respond you force yourself to move, turning on your side to look at him. His legs are hanging over the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his chest, fingers entwined. He’s staring at the ceiling, his jaw clenched and forehead furrowed. You scoot closer to him your head laying on the bed next to his.

“Dean, are you okay?” You place a hand on top of his, squeezing it gently.

He turns his head to look at you. “After we find Mom and Jack, it’s time,” he says plainly before standing and heading to the bathroom.

You sigh as you climb off the bed, you knew this day was coming, but it still seems overwhelming. Fixing the bedding and pillows, you climb under the covers, nervously picking at your fingernails. When he returns, you’re lying on your side facing the wall. He climbs into bed behind you, throwing an arm over your waist and pulling you into him as you rest your hand on top of his.

His breath ghosts over your ear, “You okay with moving up the timetable?”

You squeeze his hand, “I’ve got your back, whatever you decide to do.” You bring his hand to your lips kissing each knuckle. “Let’s get some sleep, and we’ll talk to Sam tomorrow.”

“I love you, Y/N/N,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.”

Within minutes he’s asleep, the emotional events of the day finally taking their toll. No matter how tired your body is, your mind just won’t shut off. You slowly sit up, leaning back against the headboard, careful not to wake your fiancé. His arm slides from your waist to fall across your legs as you scoot up the bed. You rest a hand on his forearm and absentmindedly rub circles across his skin with your thumb. Your other hand begins to card through his hair; a gesture just as soothing to you as it is for him.

Unbeknownst to Sam, over the past couple of months Dean and you had been making plans to stop hunting. You both knew that there was no way to quit the life completely and you honestly didn’t want to. However, the constant loss and sacrifice were taking a heavy toll on Dean. He was able to hide most of the stress from Sam, but he didn’t even attempt to hide it from you.

He tried at first, afraid to show you how damaged and broken he truly was, how undeserving he felt. Over time he came to realize that you would never judge him, never take advantage of his weaknesses, nor turn your back on him. Once he admitted to himself how much he needed your support and understanding to keep him going, he began to tell you everything; sharing all his darkest fears and secret hopes.

Even as close as they are, you’re not sure that Sam truly realizes just how fragile his brother has become. Outside, Dean is all bravado and strength, but inside he’s barely being held together with spit and glue. He’s only forty years old, but in those few brief years, he has suffered enough tragedy and heartache to fill a hundred lifetimes.

The current plan is to step back and fully embrace the legacies that they are. To become full-time Men of Letters, combining brains and brawn to assist the next generation of hunters. The only caveat in the plan is that Dean won’t stop hunting unless Sam does, and you’re not sure if Sam is ready to give up the fight.

Twenty minutes later you’re still wide awake and full of nervous energy. Carefully extracting yourself from Dean’s grip, without waking him, you slide out of bed. Hoping some mindless activity might help to clear your mind, you decide to clean up the mess in the map room before anyone cuts themselves on the glass-covered floor. You slip on Dean’s discarded t-shirt, some clean underwear from your dresser and grab your flips flops from the closet before heading out of the room.

At the entrance to the map room, you slide your feet into the flip flops, then grab Sam’s bags and head toward his room. You open the door slowly hoping that you don’t wake him. As your eyes adjust to the dim light in the room, your gaze lands on Sam’s form, face down spread eagle across the bed, his gentle snores filling the silence. You smile, placing his bags against the wall and softly close the door behind you.

Grabbing a broom, dustpan and garbage bag from the hall closet, you head back to the map room. At least half the floor is littered with tiny shards of glass. There is also glass on top of the old computer counsel and the steps to the library. Sighing, you take the broom and start brushing off the top of the computer, pushing the glass onto the floor, careful to avoid pushing any buttons. Fifteen minutes later, you have a large pile of glass and dust in one corner of the room.

You hear footfalls in the hallway, recognizing the stride as Dean’s. He never does sleep very well without you, and now you feel bad that you probably disrupted his much-needed rest by leaving him alone. Your own body begins to feel heavy from lack of sleep, and you hurry to complete your task so the two of you can return to bed.

You raise the broom to swipe at the cobweb you just noticed near the ceiling causing the sleeves of the t-shirt to slide down your arms and the hem to shift up, exposing your ass and hips. You hear a gasp from behind you and turn with a smirk on your lips, expecting to see lust in his eyes at your half-naked body. Instead, you are met with a look of guilt and disgust.

He steps forward gently taking one of your hands in his, raising it to get a closer look and lightly rubs at the bruises on your wrists. His other hand slowly reaches for the hem of the t-shirt and lifts it to expose the skin beneath. His eyes take in the angry yellow and green splotches that will soon be a watercolor of deep blues and purples. His eyes rake up your body, the handprints on your biceps peak from underneath the shirt sleeves, and his breath hitches when he sees the bites littering your neck and the tiny cuts on your cheek.

His hand trembles around yours. “Y/N, I’m….”

You place a finger over his lips. “Don’t you dare apologize. I’m fine. The cuts will heal, and the bruises will fade.” You turn your palm to grip the hand that is holding yours, letting the broom fall to the floor, you raise your other hand to cup his face. A tear escapes the pool of green and cascades down his cheek. You brush it away with your thumb as you take another step closer. “You needed that, and I was a willing partner.” He closes his eyes, sucking in a breath and you squeeze his jaw to bring his attention back to you. “A. Willing. Partner,” you repeat, emphasizing your words to make him understand.

He nods his head and slips his arms around you, pulling you into him. He cups the back of your head gently against his chest, as his other hand rests on the small of your back. Your arms slide around his waist, and you press yourself closer into him. His head drops to your shoulder. You can feel the silent sobs wracking his body, and you gently rub his back, whispering endearments in his ear. “It’s alright, babe. I’m here for whatever you need.” After several minutes, his body stills. You don’t loosen your hold until he does and then you bring your hands around to frame his face, brushing away the wetness from his cheeks. “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

“I-” He sniffs. “I love you, Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

Smiling, you take a step back and let your hands fall to your sides. “Come on, help me finish this up and then we’ll go get some sleep. We need to be coherent when we talk to Sam.”

Before you can turn away his palms gently cup your face tilting your head back as his fingers entwine in your hair. Unlike a few hours earlier, his lips meet yours in a hesitant kiss, soft and sweet. It’s a short, quick peck, but meaningful all the same. “Thank you,” he whispers.

This time when he crawls into the bed, he lays on his side facing you and curls into your body like a small child, placing his head on your shoulder. You slip an arm under him and bring it up around his neck and shoulders as you entwine your legs with his. Reaching down to pull his top leg over your hip your hand runs up his thigh and over his torso, then you feel your shoulder dampen.

  
He’s crying again, and your heart breaks for him, shattering like the glass against the wall. Your grip on his shoulder tightens, and you run the fingers of your other hand through his hair trying to soothe him. “Shh, I’m here.”

Minutes later his breathing becomes slow and regular, and his muscles relax, letting you know he’s finally fallen asleep. You continue to play with his hair, trying to ease the tension in your own body. You stare at his face, counting the myriad of freckles that grace his features.

Several minutes later your eyelids flutter closed, and you fall asleep worrying about it being the beginning of the end of the life you currently know. But there’s plenty of time to figure it out, right?


End file.
